


You're A Star That I Can See

by Alcoholic_kangaroo



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 16:53:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16162997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcoholic_kangaroo/pseuds/Alcoholic_kangaroo
Summary: It was assumed that Will Byers was taken by the Demogorgon years ago, even though nobody ever saw his body. Nobody knows he was saved that night by another supernatural creature.Happy Halloween!





	You're A Star That I Can See

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. I don't even know what I plan on doing with this. I mean, it's going to be Byercest which is obviously my favorite but plotwise?

Looking back on it weeks, months, years later, it seemed obvious what had drawn Alabaster Laurent to that small town of Hawkins, Indiana that autumn night of 1983. He was largely wrong, but this isn’t something he would concern himself with. Instead, he would form a mythos around this night, weaving tales of fate and true love and soulmates. 

That would come years later, however. But at the time? Why did he travel those lonely, empty roads? On that misty cool night with the smell of dead leaves in the air? 

The world had moved in a haze around Bast as if he were being pulled through space and time itself. It wasn’t as if he were being controlled, exactly. He had even stopped himself at one point, taking a moment to glance down at the keys in his hand and admiring the way the moonlight overhead made the metal glisten. But then he was on the road and the black pavement also glistened, wet, the stones crunching beneath the weight of rubber tires and fiberglass.

If you had asked him before that night, Bast would say it was impossible for a vampire to suffer from highway hypnosis. Vampires possess a set of senses, a leaning towards focus and hyperconcentration, that humans simply are incapable of acquiring. 

Vampires are capable of sitting calmly and watching paint dry.

But that night.

Bast drove for hours. He was hungry, oh so hungry, the blood flowing through his ears roaring like ocean water. And why was he driving north anyway, hadn’t he planned on heading south after his stop in Chicago? Winter was coming and while he did appreciate the longer nights he hated the cold and had planned on hibernating in the Florida Keys at least until after the new year.

“Tomorrow night,” he had told himself at the time. “I’ll start driving down tomorrow night. I need to feed first.”

As if he couldn’t have found somebody to feed off on the way down. He had imagined the scent of the sea air and how the ocean waves sounded from the patio of his apartment on the beach. So similar to the pounding in his ears that night. Thin and salty and not nearly thick enough because it had been far too long since he had fed. A satisfied vampire has blood like a cold syrup, not like that of an ocean swell.

He had been thinking about cool night sand between his toes when he had spotted the creature. And he had soothed himself later, assuring himself the only reason he had been able to be caught by surprise was because of his hunger. Because he hadn’t realized what had lain in that small town’s heart that night.

That’s not to say that Bast hadn’t realized the creature was supernatural. More So than himself, even, because Bast had been born to a mortal woman and this creature was obviously off the evolutionary scale altogether. A demon, maybe. Or one of those creatures, the sons of the early gods, that sleep deep beneath the earth.

The presence of such supernatural creatures is not unheard of.

As dazed as he had been, that one second flash of the creature in the distance had been enough for him to drink in every detail of the creature’s deformed, worm-like body. The creature had possessed no face and no signs of a sex. It had not been human and it had not been vampire and for the first time in many years there had been a stab of fear through his artificially beating heart.

And then there had been that wretched thump and the creature had been gone. 

Then his life had changed forever.

Just as surely as Bast had no idea why he had driven to that small town that night, he had no idea what he had stepped out of that car. With that, that thing out there, it had been a dangerous decision from the start. But when he had raised his nose to the parted window pane and sniffed at the air there had been no hint of anything dark or immortal in the air.

But the scent of blood. That had laced itself around the smell of mist and rotting leaves and burning rubber. And even if Bast hadn’t been starving he would have found that particularly scent absolutely enticing.

It was a boy.

Hurt, bloodied, trapped beneath the still-spinning wheels of a bicycle, but alive.

Unconscious, he lay breathing on the black pavement. The ground appeared dry here, perhaps out of range of the storm that had poured down on the fields and roads hours south of the small town. The dirt did not smell like rain. The air did not smell like rain.

But still, the pavement glistened. The moon overhead glowed pink against the blood oozing in a perfect circle around the boy’s head.

The smell of it was intoxicating. Bast ran his fingers through the boy’s hair, coating them in red, and squatted beside the boy, sucking his blood from his fingers. Sweet, like cotton candy. Baby blood. Unsullied by alcohol or drugs or anything more harmful than Kool-Aid and chocolate bars.

It had felt like a gift at the time. An easy kill. A sugar-sweet child alone on a deserted back road, bleeding out in front of him. It should have been easy decision. He had known at the time that the boy would have been fine if let be, a head wound may bleed a lot but it would stop soon enough, but he had never been above killing children. Especially unwanted, unloved ones like this specimen. Because surely this boy was one of the unwanted and unloved for why else would such a creature be out on his own in the middle of the night?

Two things stopped Bast from killing the boy that night.

First, the fear of the worm-creature returning. If he were to bend down, to lower his head just long enough to feed, would the worm-creature appear behind him? Would it attack when he was lost in his feeding ecstasy?

It was this fear that had caused Bast to gather the boy up in his arms. He would put him in his car and take him somewhere to finish the boy off. Somewhere safe, where that wretched Morlock being could not find him.

And it was this action that had signaled the second thing that had stopped Bast from killing the boy. The boy had  _ groaned _ . The sound of it, more of a pathetic whimper than a true groan if one were to be perfectly honest, had frozen Bast as still as a statue.

He had looked at the boy.

He had  _ looked  _ at him.

And he had truly seen him.

A beautiful creature on the verge of adolescence but just not quite there. Skin as soft as fleece. Soft lips parted showing teeth that were half adult, half child, something about their rodent-like quality endearing and vulnerable. Dark eyelashes had fluttered and dilated eyes blinked up at him, surely not seeing anything because no human boy could see him in this lighting. A little pink tongue wetted cupid bow lips.

“Who-” the boy started.

Then there was a flash. Bast went flying through the air, his arms tightening around the boy in his arms. The worm-creature was on them, wanting the boy, only the boy, and Bast could tell that. His own cold, dead scent was of no allure.

Vampires don’t live for centuries by taking chances. Immortal does not truly mean immortal. The quick and unexpected death of Bast’s own creator only months after his own turning had been proof enough of that. And Bast has only lasted as long as he has by being on the move, avoiding conflict, never letting himself get close to any humans.

It is a lonely existence, but one he has resigned himself to.

For how could he ever make another like himself? To choose such a human he would need to find the perfect one and the only way to find a perfect human would be to interact with them.

That isn’t to say that Bast doesn’t carry on conversations with the mortals. He enjoys bookstore liaisons and cafe open mics. Discussions on philosophy and God and rock music over steaming cups of coffee that he never touched. He even enjoys the occasional long, weekend with a lucky young man or woman, rolling together on spotlessly white cotton sheets with the smell of lavender and sea salt in the air. 

But no relationship can last more than three, four days, because how do you answer the questions that arise? Where do you live? What is your phone number? What do you do for a living? Why aren’t you eating? Why aren’t you drinking? Why are there marks on my neck? Did you bite me during sex? What kind of freak are you?

Bast enjoys these meetings of the mind but he does not allow himself to get too attached. He does not kill these humans, these ones he enjoys the company of, but he would not hesitate to do so if they somehow discovered his secret.

They are nothing to him.

It had been hundreds of years, that autumn night, since Bast had even contemplated putting his own life up for forfeit to save another. And if somebody had asked him, at that exact moment, why he would do such a foolish thing, well.

For one instant, he had felt as if he would die for the boy in his arms.

But his death would do neither of them any good. Instead, he had sliced his right wrist open with his teeth and thrust his arm forward. The worm-creature was eyeless and by the way it moved Bast had sensed it was relying on sense of smell.

The blood of a vampire is rotten to that of most supernatural creatures. His maker had taught him that and it had always proven to be true, with the few creatures Bast had encountered in his life before.

It proved to be true again that night. The air itself seemed to rip in two, the tear like that of the sound of ripped sheets, and they were alone once more.

The boy had begun to tremble in his arms. On instinct, some instinct Bast didn’t know or understand, the vampire clutched the boy close, wrapping both arms around him. There was blood all over. The boy’s blood stained Bast’s face and hair and shirt. His own blood, still dripping from his wrist, soaked through the boy’s flannel sleeves.

He had been so, so warm. So human.

And Bast had known at that moment that he wanted to keep this boy. This perfect, warm, beautiful boy that he had just saved from certain death,

And he had known just as surely that this boy would age. He would grow, tall and broad at first, stubble appearing on his chin. Then his hair would go gray and he would start to shrink once more, his shoulders hunching, his taut skin becoming loose, stained with liver spots.

Alabaster Laurent would tell his ward for years after that what had drawn him to that spot that misty cool autumn night was fate. Fate, that had demanded the two of them be together for eternity. 

“I was called to save you, pet,” Bast would say, as he stroked his ward’s silken-brown hair. “Fate wanted me to take you from the claws of that beast and draw you into my embrace.”

“But my family,” the boy would protest, over and over and over again for the first few years.

“They wouldn’t understand,” Bast would say, repeating the same phrase so many times it started to sound like a cliche to his own ears. “It’s just the two of us. Give me a kiss, pet. Don’t sound so sad, it breaks my heart to hear you sound so sad. Am I not enough for you, my beloved?”

“Of course you’re enough,” the boy would assure him. And then they would be quietly happy together for a couple weeks or months or years.

But every so often, Bast would find the boy sitting somewhere, silent and unmoving, holding an old science textbook in his lap. His fingers, pale as marble and capable of moving like flitting hummingbird wings, tracing the words written on the cover as sluggishly as any human’s.

WILL BYERS 83-84.

And Bast would feel like weeping inside over the young life he had stolen.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about the OC. I'm not big on OC's either and I tried to think of somebody who I could use to fill this role instead but it didn't really work as a crossover with any other fandom. I swear, he's not going to be the main protagonist and he won't play as big a part in the story as he did in the first chapter.


End file.
